


Stakeout

by wordybirdy



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-09
Updated: 2011-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-19 04:52:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordybirdy/pseuds/wordybirdy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes, Watson & Lestrade are on a stakeout.  Enter one pack of playing cards and three hip flasks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stakeout

“This is becoming very tedious,” said Holmes, exhaling heavily onto his blue fingers.

Holmes, Inspector Lestrade and I were sitting at a small window on one of the upper floors of an old, abandoned property, all of us gazing out through the misted pane onto the building directly opposite. The room we were in currently was almost bare, extremely dusty and biting cold. The building across the street held refuge for a gang of criminals whom we were very much hoping to apprehend that same night if they co-operated unwittingly with us. Lestrade’s men were primed and ready for action at the blow of a whistle. The blow of the whistle, however, was a most painfully long time coming. The far building remained in bleak darkness, with no shadow or movement whatsoever from within. Two hours into our shift already, we three shifted our positions uncomfortably and sighed as one, as our gradually waning patience trickled away as a regrettably cracked sand clock.

“Something must happen soon,” said Lestrade, with the blind faith of optimism that was the Scotland Yard police force, “for we received a good lead, Mr. Holmes. A very good lead. And… well, something must happen. I trust you are not too cramped there, Doctor Watson?”

I stretched my suffering leg and gave it a brisk rub. “I am quite all right, thank you, Lestrade. It is really very cold, though, however.”

“It is bitter,” grumbled Holmes, swathed in a great coat and with a scarf pulled up and smothering half of his face, so that he resembled a rather elegant Egyptian mummy. He had forgotten to bring his gloves along, all the same. “If these inconsiderate _gentlemen_ do not show up within the next hour or two then I fear the three of us will be carried out on stretchers as solid blocks of ice before the night is through.” And he shivered violently as if to prove his point.

“Come now, Mr. Holmes, it is not so bad as all that.” Lestrade shook his head. “I am sure that you have been in less hospitable environs than this sorry room, and emerged none the worse for it. Did I happen to drag you away from a cosy night by the fire with your slippers and pipe? I do apologise. These criminals don’t play to our timetable, though, do they?”

Holmes scowled without reply. He puffed out a white plume of cold and huddled closer to me.

“You are scarcely warmer, Watson,” said he, chivvying my shoulder. “With all that extra poundage on you I would have thought that you might throw out a little surplus heat.”

“I am keeping it all to myself, Holmes,” I replied, eyes narrowed at my friend’s jibe. “And I am not surprised that you are so chilled, as bony and gangly as you are.”

Lestrade huffed out a laugh then, and Holmes straightened up with an offended air. He pointed his nose towards the window, pursed his lips and rummaged in his coat pocket. He muttered something under his breath which sounded vaguely like “Bugger the pair of you, then,” but I doubted that it could have been that. My cold ears were playing tricks on me.

“Tell me more about this gang, Lestrade,” I encouraged the little Inspector crouched beside me. “Who is their leader?”

“The head of this wicked troupe is a fellow by the name of Pigeon Edwards,” replied Lestrade. “He is a giant bear of a man, all black beard and moustache, and just as fierce. He is intent on carrying out this bank raid and running off with all of the spoils. Such an ambitious scheme requires planning, though, as you are well aware, and we are tipped that this old haunt across the street is their pad. They are careful, though, and leave it stripped after every one of their meetings. No evidence to be found, Mr. Holmes. If we could but just catch them in the act. So here we are tonight in the hopes that it might actually occur.”

“I would hope that something more concrete than a ‘might’ will take place, Lestrade,” snapped Holmes, his words muffled through the many layers of his scarf, “otherwise what on earth is the point of having all three of us sitting here like frozen mannequins in a shop window?”

Lestrade thrust his hands deep into his pockets, as though if he did not then they might be put to better use by pushing my friend from his chair. “The presence of yourself and Doctor Watson is always appreciated in times like this, Mr. Holmes,” he said, flatly. “You have provided us with several pieces of useful information on this case, and I thought you might like to share in the excitement of the climax.”

“If this is excitement then I shudder to think what your idea of monotony might be,” retorted my friend. He sighed and plucked a pack of playing cards from his pocket. He flung them upon the small table in front of us. “If things should become too exciting to bear,” he added, dryly, “we might calm ourselves down with a game of Gin Rummy.”

The Inspector perked visibly at the sight of the cards. “Ah, Mr. Holmes,” said he, “that is a capital notion. As long as we keep an eye on that building, all should be well. Are we playing for stakes?”

“No, we are most certainly not,” said Holmes. “Please do not encourage Watson to gamble away his entire pension. If we get him started then I fear he will not stop until he has put down Mrs. Hudson herself as a wager.”

“Holmes,” I began, with an edge of warning to my voice. First a poke at my weight, and now an allusion to an extreme gambling habit. I was not appreciating this evening’s topics of conversation thus far.

“Small stakes, Mr. Holmes,” said Lestrade, “come on, now, do not be a killjoy. It will add to the pleasure of the game. If you win then I do not suppose you will be complaining, eh!” He chuckled, and shook out the cards from their pack onto the table.

“ _If_ I win?” Holmes appeared bemused at the notion. “Of _course_ I will win. I never lose. I will have you wipe that foolish smirk from your face after I have emptied your wallet in its entirety, Lestrade.”

“Aye, aye! A challenge, I declare,” guffawed the Inspector. “What say you, Doctor?”

“I think we must take Holmes up on that, Lestrade,” I smiled. “Teach him a lesson, perhaps.”

“Ha!” Holmes snorted through his nostrils, and stamped his feet upon the floor. “By Jove, it really is blasted cold in here, I wish we had thought to bring blankets.”

“It is a good thing that I brought this, then,” said Lestrade, as he pulled out a hip flask from the inside pocket of his coat. “Nothing like a small tot of whisky on a Winter’s night.”

“And I brought this,” said I, flashing my flask also. “Rum. Fortifying stuff.”

“Gamblers and tosspots, the pair of you,” said Holmes. “Although, I do appear to have this upon my person for some mysterious reason.” And he produced a similar flask from his pocket. “Brandy. I shall be needing it soon, too, because I am _cold_.”

I began to laugh. “Cold and cantankerous, what a fatal combination.”

“Freezing and fractious,” added Lestrade.

“Shivering and sulking,” I concluded.

We two were chuckling helplessly now.

“Deal the wretched cards already,” said Holmes, “and bring out your money. You are in for it now.”

“Keep your eyes on the window all the same,” Lestrade reminded us, as he dealt. “It would be a sorry state of affairs if Edwards and his crew have their meeting and are gone before we even take notice.”

“Yes, it would be very unprofessional of you, Lestrade,” said Holmes, as he popped the cork of his flask and took a tiny swig. “Oh, that is better.” He cracked a half-smile at me, and winked.  
Huddled around the table, we began our game of Gin Rummy. True to his word and despite the best efforts of Lestrade and myself, Holmes won the first hand. He crowed quite terribly about it, scooping our coinpile over to his side with a triumphant hiss.

“Congratulations,” said I, rolling my eyes, “you are the richer by a few pennies, I can see why you are so pleased.”

Holmes won the second hand, also.

“You are not trying, the either of you,” he declared. “I suggest we up the stakes.”

“As you wish, Mr. Holmes,” said Lestrade, raising his eyebrows very slightly. “You may have cause to regret it, however.”

“I doubt it,” he replied, with a pull on his flask.

Fumbling my cards with the thick gloves that I was wearing, I managed to win the third hand all the same. With one eye on the dark building opposite our window and his other eye on his cards, Lestrade won the fourth. We began to pull back our pauper’s fortune from Holmes, who now sat huffing on his fingers and muttering under his breath. I feel compelled to mention at this juncture that my friend is an extremely poor loser in all regards, personal and professional. And now I was discovering that when he was losing at cards, the air might turn purple and the carpets might curl.

“That is very ungentlemanly language, Mr. Holmes,” Lestrade commented amusedly as he swiped a further pile of coins from the middle of the table. “I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that on this occasion it is the brandy talking as opposed to your habitual ill grace.”

“Sod the brandy, I want my winnings back,” replied Holmes. “I didn’t come here this evening to walk away from it the poorer. And the colder! Ah, that is surely it, Lestrade - it is the cold that affects me. That is my only explanation for how you and Watson are managing to snatch these hands away from me with your low scheming.”

“Our low scheming is doing us no great harm, Holmes,” I chuckled at him. “You are surely not going to have a tantrum because you are losing at cards, of all things?”

Holmes fought tooth and nail on the fifth hand, but I took it at the last, with applause from our friend Lestrade.

Holmes flung his cards down upon the table, where they scattered, several windmilling away to the floor.

“I am not playing any more,” said he. He folded his arms and looked out of the window. “Nor shall I be bringing a pack of cards with me on any more of these ridiculous excursions, where I freeze my fingers to the bone and lose all my money to a pair of idiots. Be quiet, both of you, dammit!”

Lestrade and I had set to laughing again. “This is turning into quite the little party,” said Lestrade, “it’s a shame that there’s always one guest who becomes the worse for drink and makes a spectacle of himself.”

“Rot,” said Holmes. “Utter rot.”

“Perhaps next time Lestrade will bring a Snakes and Ladders board,” I suggested helpfully, “you might find that more to your liking, Holmes.”

“Absolute bilgewater,” grumbled my friend.

“Or a piece of chalk that we might draw a hopscotch court,” added Lestrade. “I imagine you would have a talent for that.”

“ _Cobblers_ , Lestrade!”

“Never mind ‘cobblers’,” I said, craning my neck to peer through the window, “there’s a light burning in that building, Lestrade.”

“Aye, aye!” exclaimed the Inspector excitedly, “and this is what it’s all about, then! We’re off, at last. Cheer up now, Mr. Holmes, you might not be cold for very much longer.”

My friend now seemed to have forgotten his irritation and his numb fingers, for he too was looking eagerly out into the black night at the illuminated room across the street. We could see dark figures moving to and fro; the figures of five, maybe six men, it was difficult to be clear from the distance we were at.

“We’ll give them a few minutes to set up, and then we’ll have them,” said Lestrade. “No, what is that? Two of them in an altercation? We had best be off straightaway, gentlemen!” He leaned from the window and blew his whistle shrilly. Within seconds the building was surrounded by officers, and we were clattering down the stairs of our own hiding place to join them. I saw Holmes hang back for a brief moment; I supposed that he was shutting the window, for there was some considerable noise and movement, and then he too was behind us on the stair.

Suffice to say that Pigeon Edwards and his motley crew were captured with a minimum of resistance and very much circumstantial evidence regarding their nefarious plot. Lestrade puffed himself up with pride as we stood before him in the deserted hallway.

“Got ‘em, Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson! Got ‘em! It is a good thing that I was so quick about it, and reacted so sharply, otherwise they might have gotten away with it! Oh yes, gentlemen, this is another feather in my cap! Ho!”

“Hum, yes,” said Holmes, “very well done there, Lestrade, I do congratulate you.” And he turned from the preening Inspector with a dry smile and beckoned me to follow him away.

“Extreme forms of temperature do very little for your humour in general, Holmes,” I admonished my friend some short while later, when we were back inside the warmth of 221B.

“Perhaps that is so,” replied Holmes, “but at any rate I find my brain is not affected after all.” He rattled his pockets at me then, as if to prove it, and they sounded now as being very full of coin, as the contents clinked and jingled together. “Finders keepers, as the children say.” And he chuckled mischievously, as he stood in front of our brightly lit fireplace and rubbed his frozen fingers back to warmth.


End file.
